


More Hope by the Day

by crisiskris



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Character Development, Gap Filler, Gen, nothing really happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 09:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14329497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Dylan gets to know his new crew, and his new universe, a little better.





	1. First Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a filler story, to fill in what happens between the end of An Affirming Flame and the beginning of To Loose the Fateful Lightning. I wanted to explore a bit more of the very early days as Dylan gets used to being 300 years older and his new crew figures him out... and I also felt like there would need to be some practical considerations attended to right off the hop that are probably too boring for television.

Dylan and Beka shook hands, symbolically solidifying their new arrangement.  After a moment, she let her hand drop and offered him an awkward smile.  “So… now what?”

Dylan didn’t answer immediately. To be frank, he was still getting over his surprise that they had agreed to stay at all.  His mind had been racing ever since Andromeda had informed him that they’d just been pulled out of a black hole that had kept them frozen in time for over 300 years. In eight short hours he’d discovered that everyone he knew and loved was dead, that the Commonwealth – his career, his pride, his _purpose_ in life – was not only gone but so far gone that no one even remembered it anymore, and that furthermore the world had gone to hell because of it. He considered it quite an achievement that he’d even been able to come up with an idea for what to do next – restore the Commonwealth, save civilization – or that he’d been able to identify the primary obstacle to initiating that idea – he was alone on a ship that used to have 4,000 people running it. Between trying to figure out what had happened to him, dealing with the sudden appearance of intruders who, it quickly became apparent, were not exactly a cohesive group, trying to get them out of the black hole _and_ rescuing Beka’s ship (and crew member), he hadn’t had a lot of time for short term planning.

“Dylan?” Beka’s voice cut into his reverie. A little less sure. Probably wondering if she’d just signed on board with a crazy person, he thought.

“Sorry.  I – I have no idea,” he admitted. He hadn’t intended to admit that, wanting his new crew to feel confident in his abilities, but the words came out before he could stop them. He cringed inwardly, knowing how detrimental it could be for a captain to show weakness in front of the people that were entrusting their lives to his command.

“Well, I do,” the short blond human, Harper, declared, seeming unconcerned. Dylan eyed him, and then glanced around at the others. None of them seemed to have taken any notice of Dylan’s weakness at all. “Bed,” Harper continued. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a long day. And no offense, Dylan, but this ship needs _a lot_ of work. I’m gonna have to get started early tomorrow if we’re going to make any progress.” 

Dylan gaped at him. He was already making plans for repairs? How did he know what needed to be done? Shouldn’t Dylan have this information? “Uh… right, Mr. Harper.” Dylan gave himself a brownie point for the way the blond man’s face lit up when Dylan showed that he’d remembered his name. “Bed is a very good idea. Andromeda?”

“Yes, Dylan?”

“Can you set up quarters for our new crew, please?” He smiled in Beka’s general direction.

“Where shall I put them?” 

“Oooh!” The strange purple woman jumped up, excited. “Can I go near the hydroponics lab? Please?”

“Engine room,” Harper stated.

“Some place quiet would be sufficient for me,” the magog equivocated. Dylan tried not to shudder at the voice, reminding himself that the man was some kind of religious practitioner, contrary as that may seem.

“I think I’ll stay on the Maru for now,” Beka answered. “No offense, but – that’s my home.”

“Where I sleep is irrelevant,” the final voice contributed. Dylan glanced toward the large Nietzschean. He wasn’t a part of Beka’s crew. They had separated themselves quite clearly from him, and looked at him with as much distrust as they looked at Dylan, especially Harper, whose displeasure at sharing space with the mercenary was written all over his face. That was something to pay attention to; it could be problematic. Dylan made a decision to watch the Nietzschean very carefully.

“Well, alright then,” he said, injecting as much authority into his voice as he could. “Trance goes to Deck 9 and Harper down to Deck 13. Andromeda, why don’t you put Rev Bem near the Med Deck, since that’s about the quietest part of the ship I can think of, and put Tyr up on Deck 7 with me.” He smiled as he said it, but the message – I want you where I can keep my eyes on you – was clearly received by the other man. Tyr tipped his head, the slightest of movements, in acknowledgement. Dylan had done the Nietzschean thing and not presumed to offer the other man trust. It had won him a modicum of respect. 

“Come on, Trance, let’s go pack,” Harper said enthusiastically. “Man, I cannot wait to jump in that shower – and did I tell you that _every_ room has a coffee maker?” The two wondered out of the room, chattering in a way that Dylan couldn’t help but respond to with fondness.

“They are not children,” a warning voice told him. A grating, guttural voice – Rev Bem. 

“I know that,” he replied, a little nonplussed. Rev seemed to know exactly what he’d been thinking – that Harper and Trance together looked like a couple of kids.

“I’m glad,” Rev smiled and Dylan suppressed a grimace. “It is important that you understand that appearances can be deceiving.” 

Dylan nodded. “I do understand,” he promised. Rev bowed in appreciation. The comment hadn’t just been about Trance and Harper. Rev wanted to make sure he was truly welcome on the Commonwealth ship. He bowed his head back, showing respect, although he really didn’t know anything about the religion that the magog was involved in, and smiled as Rev walked serenely out of the room. Beka followed, regarding Dylan for a moment with appraising eyes, but saying nothing.

“Well, Tyr, shall I show you to your quarters?” Dylan offered. Tyr gestured for him to go ahead. “No, by all means, I insist,” Dylan replied, waving Tyr forward instead. They regarded each other coolly as Tyr slid by.

**

A couple of hours later, Dylan found himself alone in his quarters. He’d gone around to make sure that everyone was settled – and to make sure that personal  belongings of his old crew were properly stored, quite frankly  - and then had Andromeda do a quick sensor sweep of the system to make sure they were safe before he retired. He had changed into his pajamas but he couldn’t bear the thought of lying down to sleep just yet. Instead, he was staring out the window into the vastness of space, trying to give himself the space and time he needed to contemplate the colossal upheaval that had just occurred. Yesterday, he’d sent a message to Sara telling her how well things were going and how much he missed her. He’d played ‘Go’ with Rhade – a memory that made his throat close up and his fists clench with more sadness and anger than he’d thought possible. He’d listened to Refractions of Dawn going on about her mating group’s latest additions, and sympathized with the insect’s regret at having not been there to participate in the most recent hatching. He’d wondered if he should maybe have someone repaint the command deck soon; it was looking a little worn. Now he barely had enough people on board to keep the engines running.

He sighed, eyeing his liquor cabinet, thinking that one night of wallowing in drunkenness might just be in order, when his door chimed. “Captain Valentine here to see you,” Andromeda announced.

Dylan really, really just wanted to tell the ship to send her away, pretend he was already asleep or make some other excuse, and deal with whatever it was in the morning. But he needed these people – they were all he had right now – and he knew that meant making a good impression, whatever it took. So instead he reached for a shirt, smoothed down his hair and said, “Send her in,” as he padded over to the liquor cabinet for two glasses instead of just one. 

He heard Beka step in to the room and fail to sit down. “Captain Valentine,” he said, putting as much warmth and welcome into his voice as he could muster. “I was just about to have a drink. Care to join me?” he held out the bottle in offering. 

“No, thank you,” she replied, still standing there, unnerving him. He poured himself a glass and walked over to the sitting area.

“Have a seat,” he invited. “I assume everyone’s settled in okay?”

Beka sat, leaning forward. “Dylan, we need to talk,” she said, ignoring his question.

“What’s on your mind?”

She looked at him, eyes searching his face as if looking for signs that she could trust him – or that she shouldn’t. Clearly, she wasn’t sure whether she should say what she came here to say. But just when he was going to offer her some encouragement, she plunged forward. “I don’t know which way your… tastes run,” Beka grimaced, “But you stay away from Trance, and you stay away from Harper.”

Dylan nearly choked on his drink. Beka didn’t seriously think he would… did she? “Beka – Captain Valentine,” he sputtered, “I assure you I have no interest – I mean, Trance is, well, she’s a lovely girl but... and Harper? Well, I’m sure he’s very… but I’m not – no. Beka, never.” She watched him, a hard look on her face.  He set his drink down and leaned forward, meeting her gaze steadily. “Beka, I assure you. Never.”

“Good,” she replied finally, breaking eye contact. She stood up. “I’m sorry if I offended you. But I had to make sure.”

“I understand,” Dylan replied.

“No, you really don’t,” Beka answered, her voice a bit sad. “You think I’m just being paranoid.  Protective. I’m not. I’m ensuring that past mistakes don’t get repeated because… because what we’re talking about, it’s not that uncommon. Trance is pretty exotic. There are lots of less honorable beings out there that see her as some sort of prize to be won. And Harper? The world that he grew up in is one you can’t even imagine. Hell, it’s one that I can’t even imagine, and I’ve seen some pretty horrific things.  It’s a rough universe, Dylan.”

“Thank you for coming, Beka,” he replied, softly, meaning it. She was right. He needed to be reminded that he didn’t have a clue what was going on here. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d lucked into just the right people to help him figure it out, and he had a lot to learn from them. He stood, walking her to the door. Then, because the conversation felt so heavy and serious, and because he really did want her to like him, he decided to try a joke. “I assume from the fact that you didn’t mention him that Rev Bem is up for grabs?”

It worked. Beka smiled. “Rev can take care of himself,” she replied lightly. “Maybe you should give it a go. Ironically, of the four of us, he’s the least likely to return your affections with a swift kick in the head.” 

Dylan winced, exaggerating the movement. “I take it that means that you’re not interested?” he pushed the joke.

Beka actually laughed. “You’re not my type,” she replied, wrinkling her nose. “Good night, Dylan.” She walked out of his room still grinning.

Dylan collapsed back into his chair, his smile fading. ‘I’m ensuring that past mistakes don’t get repeated,’ Beka had said. They were the words of a Captain who had let her crew down and then watched them pay for her failure. Dylan considered his hollow, empty ship. He could relate. His past mistakes had cost him everything. The entire universe was paying for his failure. And he’d be damned if he’d do the same again. 


	2. Getting Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan tries to get to know his new crew.

He woke up, fuzzy headed and confused. Where was he? What was going on? Hadn’t there been a battle?  His heart lurched as the memories fell into place. Gone. Sara was gone. Tears pricked his eyes. Rhade had betrayed him. Rhade was gone. Refractions of Dawn. The Commonwealth. Naïve little Ensign Thomas, who could never get to his post on time. His parents. His friends – all of the happy people on the wedding guest list who had sent their RSVPs back – Admiral Stark, everything. He wanted to cry, to let the tears he felt burning in the back of his throat fall, to weep for weeks on end. But they wouldn’t fall.  All he felt was the pressure, and numbness, disbelief. How could it all be gone?

It can’t be, he decided. The Commonwealth stretched across three galaxies, incorporating thousands of worlds, billions of people. Somewhere, there was an outpost left. A trading station. Another ship. And he would find them, even if he had to scan the entire cosmos system by system. 

He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. “Good morning, Dylan,” Andromeda’s voice called. Her avatar appeared on a vid screen across the room. 

“Good morning, Andromeda. Report,” he replied, automatically. At least they still had their morning routine. He fished his slippers out from under the bed and slid his feet into them before stumbling over to the coffee maker and punching in his preferences. 

“Mr. Harper and Rev Bem got to work early this morning,” she replied. “They’ve repressurized the entire ship. Mr. Harper has also gotten environmental controls, long-range sensors, and auxiliary life support back on line. Captain Valentine is on Command Deck updating my star charts. I’m currently unable to modify my existing mapping database with real-time information from long range sensors, so she is manually integrating information from Eureka Maru. I told her that I could interface with the Maru and download the charts automatically, but she declined. I don’t think she trusts me.”

“I wouldn’t blame her,” Dylan replied. “She knows how powerful you are, and the Maru is her ship. She’d do anything to protect it, just like I’d protect you.”

“Thank you, Dylan.” Dylan heard the warmth in his AI’s voice. He smiled. 

“Anything else?”

“Trance is in hydroponics. She seems really pleased with my plants. Tyr has been working his way from Command toward Engineering, attempting to open my secured areas.”

Dylan hid his smile at the unintentional double entrendre by raising his coffee cup to his lips. “Shoot him if he tries anything,” he replied.

“I can’t.  Internal defenses are still offline.” The joke was completely lost on Andromeda, which kind of made it funnier.    
  
“Never mind,” he replied. “How late did I sleep in?”

“It’s 10:00.” She replied. “Most of the crew has been awake since approximately 08:00.”

“Most?”

“Rev Bem arose at 05:00 and spent two hours in contemplation before leaving his quarters. Harper arose at 06:00 and has been working ever since.”

“Early risers,” Dylan muttered. He didn’t know whether that information would ever come in useful, but he was determined to collect as much information as he possibly could on each of his new crew. He set down his coffee cup. “I’m going to jump in the shower,” he told Andromeda. “And then I think I’ll have a little chat with our new friend Tyr.”

“I would appreciate it if you asked him to stop trying to override my locks,” Andromeda replied, her picture flickering off.

**

Dylan felt almost cheerful after showering and dressing. He decided against the full uniform for the first time in as long as he could remember, thinking a little less formality might help put his new crew at ease. So, in his uniform pants and a plain long-sleeved shirt, he set out to talk tactics with his new Nietzschean guest. Not surprisingly, he found the large man snooping around a weapons locker. “Mr. Anisazi,” he proclaimed, smiling broadly as he approached. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I need ammunition,” Tyr replied, not bothering to hide his actions.    
  
“Are you planning on shooting somebody today?” Dylan replied.

“I rarely plan on it,” Tyr answered drily. “However, I do find the situation comes up from time to time.” Dylan leaned over and punched the access code into the door. “Thank you, Captain,” Tyr stepped in and scanned the room, taking up a collection of clips and chargers. “Your weapons are outdated, but I can make this work.” He turned to leave, and Dylan stepped carefully in his way.

“If you attempt to hurt me, my ship, or any of my invited guests, I will kill you,” Dylan said pleasantly. 

Tyr nodded, looking vaguely indignant. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less.” 

Dylan realized his threat had insulted the other man; Tyr didn’t consider it necessary. Nonetheless, he still stood in the way. “Of all the people on this ship, you are the one most likely to betray me,” he continued casually.

Tyr shook his head, looking disappointed. “Betrayal isn’t possible in situations where loyalty hasn’t been declared, Captain,” the Nietzschean replied. “But rest assured, it is not my current intention to overcome you and steal your ship. I am content to cooperate with you, for now.”

“And when that changes?”

“You’ll know.” 

It was probably the most he’d get out of the man for now. Dylan really wanted to keep things ‘friendly’ – at least, as friendly as they could be – until he was better able to understand why the mercenary had stayed. One thing he knew, Nietzscheans only participated in situations where they stood to gain something, and Dylan was smart enough to know that Tyr had more in mind than a free ride and some ammunition. He smiled, eyes narrowed, and stepped aside. 

“Speaking of cooperation,” he said as Tyr started to walk away. The other man turned around and waited. “I expect everyone on this ship to act as though they are a member of this crew. And I expect everyone to contribute. “

“Is there something you needed?” Tyr asked politely. The man was practically unreadable; if Dylan’s words chafed, he didn’t show it.

“Harper’s working on restoring the ship’s systems and Beka’s working on updating Andromeda’s databases. I’m sure either of them would be grateful for some assistance.” 

“I was heading to Command Deck anyway,” Tyr replied, making his choice. Dylan took that in. Beka – a woman, but a Captain – over Harper. He supposed that working with Harper would imply that Tyr was equivalent to the young man and, given Harper’s stature and appearance, that would be quite an insult. 

“Very good,” he replied to Tyr’s already receding back. Remembering how Harper had looked at the Nietzschean, he had to admit he agreed with the choice. Hopefully Beka and Tyr could get along; he’d meant it when he said his crew needed to act like they were one crew, not one crew plus a misplaced Captain plus one rogue mercenary. 

He contemplated following Tyr to command and then decided against it. Although Beka was the person on board he could most easily relate to, it was probably better to give the two of them some time to figure out how they’d interact. Besides, this gave him an opportunity to get to know the other three crew members a little bit better. He wandered down the hallway toward a main junction, trying to decide whether to turn right and go to hydroponics, or left and head to engineering. His decision was made for him when he heard a loud thump above his head, followed by an “ow!  Geez, Rommie – was that necessary?”

Andromeda’s voice replied, “I’m sorry, Harper – that was not intentional. I seem to have an overload in one of the tertiary power relays.  I’m afraid I can’t control the flow of electricity in that circuit.”

“Well, warn a guy next time, would ya?”  Harper’s voice was playful, not angry. 

“Careful,” Andromeda replied. “That wire is live.”

“Ha, ha.” Dylan heard another spark, followed by another “ow”, followed by Andromeda pointing out that she _had_ offered a warning. Following the sounds, Dylan climbed up the ladder that joined this deck with the one above it. Halfway up, the access conduit door was open, and he could see Harper sitting in the tight space, tools scattered around him, twisted so that he could look up into the exposed circuitry on the side of the panel. 

“Do you need any help, Mr. Harper?” he offered.

Harper jumped, slamming his head into the conduit panel and falling back. Dylan’s eyes widened in shock as Harper scrambled away, wielding his nano-welder like a weapon, his face twisting into a snarl, before realizing who had just snuck up on him. “Oh, hey, Dylan,” he said, clutching his chest and pasting a smile on his face. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“I noticed,” Dylan replied, bemused, as he climbed into the access tunnel. He fit considerably less well than Harper did. “Sorry. I thought you heard me coming.”

Harper tapped the conduit paneling. “It’s hard to hear through that,” he replied. 

“Are you calling me dense?” Andromeda’s voice asked, almost teasing. Dylan considered the tone.  Andromeda seemed to like the engineer.

“I would never call you anything but beautiful, Rommie,” Harper replied with great sincerity. 

“She is something, isn’t she?” Dylan agreed.

“A work of art.” Harper ran his hand along one wall. 

“So – need any help getting our work of art running again?” Dylan reiterated his question.

Harper smiled sheepishly. “Nah,” he said. “I’m good. Got your long wave communications up and running, and I made a few alterations to your slipstream drive so she can jump longer without having to repower. Oh, and I fixed the air quality control – some of the decks are a little musty, if you know what I mean. I rerouted your navigational system so that Beka could work on it up on Command Deck and I think we should reroute environmental control and weapons up there too. I mean – I know you have entire rooms dedicated to all these functions, but I figured it would be nicer if we could all be, you know, together. Less isolating, you know? That’s how we did things on the Maru. I hope that’s okay…” he trailed off a little uncertainly. Dylan realized that Harper was fishing to figure out the boundaries.

“Perfectly sensible,” he replied. “You do what you think is best; just keep me apprised.  Sound good?”

“Sounds good, boss,” Harper replied distractedly, already sliding back to stare up into the access panel, nano-welder firing up. Dylan eased himself back to the ladder and slid back down into the hall he’d come out of, heading forward to the main junction and turning right. _Boss_. He wondered if Harper had even been aware of calling him that. It didn’t matter – it was a good sign. Dylan had no doubt that if it came down to him or Beka, Harper would side with Beka, but he wasn’t going to have any problems with the engineer recognizing his authority. Now it was time to find out whether Trance would be a different story.

**

“Hi, Dylan,” she chirped when he walked into hydroponics. “I like your plants.” She had rearranged things and was in the process of repotting a ghava bush. 

“I can see that,” he replied, surveying her work.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind. I just thought it was prettier this way.”  She smiled at him and he got the distinct feeling she was lying, though he couldn’t be sure.

“Did you settle in alright?” he asked, for lack of anything better to say.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, packing soil around the bush’s roots. “Andromeda is very helpful. She brought me clean sheets and showed me how to make tea. It’s lovely here.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it.” He stood, watching her for a moment. Casual conversation seemed impossible. “Trance?” he asked, deciding to go for direct, to-the-point conversation instead.

“Yes, Dylan?”

“What species are you?”

“Oh, you couldn’t pronounce it,” she replied, laughing. “My language doesn’t translate into Common very well.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Beka’s ship, of course,” she skipped past him and picked up a flowering something or other, moving it deftly to the other side of the bay, placing it under one of the ultraviolet lights. Dylan could have sworn the flowers opened more fully the second that she set it down.

“I mean before that.”

“I’ve been a lot of places,” Trance replied. It was hard to get frustrated with her evasiveness when she stood there, smiling so sweetly. 

Dylan pondered whether to keep pushing or not. He decided on a slightly different tactic. “When did you join Beka’s crew?”

“About nine months ago. They needed a new environmental systems officer. Their last one bought the farm. I thought that meant that he’d retired but Beka told me it meant he died.” Her tail drooped a little at the thought. Dylan watched her closely. She certainly played well at being naïve.

“So you’re an environmental engineer,” he paraphrased.

“Oh, nothing like that,” she replied. “I’m just really good at maintaining life. I’m pretty good with medical stuff too.”

“That’s good to know,” he said. “I was wondering about a medical officer.”

She smiled and skipped past him again.

“You should talk to Rev,” she told him. He just looked at her quizzically. “Well, you’re getting to know the crew. Rev’s been a part of the crew longer than me. You should talk to him.” There was nothing in her tone to imply it, but Dylan could have sworn that what she was really saying was, _get out_. 

“Good idea,” he replied, deciding to take her on face value. “I think I’ll go do that.” He didn’t miss the secret little smile that Trance had on her face as he walked away. 

Wandering down the hallway, he replayed the conversation in his head. It seemed perfectly sensible – she was evasive, but sensible. But for some reason he felt like he’d missed something important. Exotic, is what Beka had called her. Dylan would have used the word “mysterious”. He wondered if he ought to be using the word ‘dangerous’. Something wasn’t right there, and he decided to keep his eye on it. “Andromeda,” he called.  Her face flickered onto the nearest vid screen. “What’s Trance doing in there, anyway? Why did she move the plants around?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Andromeda replied. “However, I’ve taken the liberty to look up some of her choices, and I can tell you that the plants she’s repotting together are known to be complementary – they cross-pollinate, or they support each other in symbiotic ways. For instance, she’s placed cava roots in the same pot as the passion fruit vines. My database indicates that cava roots are excellent soil stabilizers, which benefits the passion fruit, because its shallow root systems require a strong base so that the top soil doesn’t become disturbed and erode. By putting them together, she’s improving the ability of the passion fruit vine to bear fruit. There are several other examples as well. She seems to know what she’s doing.”

“She said she moved them because they looked pretty.”

If Andromeda was the sort to shrug, she would have. “Perhaps that’s true as well,” she offered. 

“Right. Keep an eye on her for me.”

“Do you suspect her of being duplicitous?”

“I don’t know, Andromeda. I just don’t know.” He contemplated the purple woman a little longer, but no clarity about her actions or demeanor was forthcoming. Dylan sighed and decided to get back to what he’d set out to do. “Andromeda, where’s Rev Bem?”  


“He’s in the mess hall,” the ship replied. Dylan nodded. Food wouldn’t be a bad idea, actually – he hadn’t had breakfast before he’d started on his little tour. Maybe a casual conversation with the Magog would be more enlightening than his attempts with Trance had proven to be. He set off, still lost in thought.


	3. Stories and Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan learns a bit about the Maru crew's past and has a chance to observe his new crew in action.

Rev was humming to himself, standing at one of the crew-use stoves that Dylan had installed in order to accommodate the growing diversity amongst his soldiers. Andromeda could reproduce most cuisines, but for cultural and religious reasons some of the crew liked to be able to cook their own food, so each mess contained three or four kitchenettes that could be booked in hour-long slots. Rev seemed to be putting one of them to good use.

“Smells good,” Dylan said, coming in. “Need any help?”

“Why, yes, Dylan, thank you,” Rev replied. “Could you cut up those root vegetables over there? I forget what they are called, but Master Harper quite enjoys them.”

“They’re potatoes. What are you going to do with them?”

“He likes to mush them up with some pod vegetables and something called ‘carrots’.” Rev snuffled, which Dylan took for laughter. 

“Well, if we’re going to mash them, I should peel them first,” Dylan responded, and set to peeling the potatoes. It had been a very long time since he’d done any kind of domestic work, and he felt a little clumsy, but Rev didn’t seem to notice.

“You know we have food synthesizers on board, right?” Dylan asked a few minutes later. “Andromeda is more than capable of preparing meals for the crew.”

“Of course,” Rev replied. “I suppose this is just… habit.” He sprinkled a little bit of flavouring into the vegetables he was bringing to a boil. 

“You cooked on the Maru?”

“Harper taught me,” Rev replied. “I don’t eat human food, but I do enjoy its preparation. The Maru’s ability to synthesize food was limited, so we often cooked for each other. Harper was the best cook, but he was always so busy, I wanted to learn so that I could help out.”

Dylan handed him the cutting board full of peeled and chopped potatoes, and Rev slid them into another pot of boiling water. “Harper’s a good cook,” he repeated.  “That surprises me.”

“Yes, well, I suppose he doesn’t look the type. But growing up on earth….” Rev’s eyes took on a mournful look for a moment and his voice softened. “Well, knowing how to prepare food was a matter of survival – knowing what could and couldn’t be eaten, how long something would last.  Harper was very good at making supplies last. He knew how to dehydrate milk so that it could be safely stored, pickle vegetables, salt meat… And he was good at making things stretch as well. He taught me a lot.”

“That was nice of him.”

Rev laughed. “Well, he didn’t just do it out of the kindness of his heart, of course,” he replied. “For one thing, my learning meant that he had to cook less often, and we also made a deal – an exchange of skills.”

“Harper taught you to cook, and you…?”

“I taught him how to read.” 

“Harper was illiterate?” Dylan’s scandalized tone caused Rev to turn all the way around, putting his back to the stove so that he could look Dylan in the eye.

“Please try and understand, Dylan. Harper grew up on earth. There was no opportunity for him to learn such things. Beka tried to teach him, but she didn’t know how.”

“And you did.” Dylan’s mind reeled, trying to assimilate the idea that someone who was raised on earth would, by definition, be unable to access a school.  How could Earth not have any schools?

“I was teaching in a missionary school on Menglas Four when they met me. My ability to help him was part of why Beka took me on board.”  Rev smiled wistfully, remembering. “It was – difficult at first.  Harper was not keen on my joining the crew.”

“Because you’re a Magog.” That, Dylan could understand.

“Indeed. The only thing that Harper knew of my people was what pain we could cause. That is, I’m afraid, the only thing that most people I’ve encountered know of my species.” He bent his head, eyes dropping.

“Tell me about Wayism,” Dylan said, hoping to change the subject to something more optimistic.

Rev smiled in appreciation for his efforts.  “I would like to show you,” he replied. “Over time, as we get to know each other. You will see how knowing the Way has blessed my life.”

“I believe I will,” Dylan smiled back.  Rev turned back to the stove, shutting off one of the dials and draining the peas and carrots. 

 “How long have you been on the Maru?” he asked as waited for the potatoes to cook.   

“About three years,” Rev replied. “I joined at the same time as Vax Peg, our previous environmental systems engineer. Vax Peg was the reason that Beka stopped at my little outpost.”

“How long have Harper and Beka been together?”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe five or six years? I never thought to ask. “They have a very interesting relationship. Beka had a man, on and off, named Bobby. Bobby and Harper hated each other. Beka seemed very attached to Bobby, and yet, somehow, when it would come down to it, she would always choose Harper’s side in a conflict.”

“What happened to Bobby?”

“He left, eventually – for good, I mean. That was a dark time. You see, when Beka inherited the Maru, she also inherited its debts. We worked hard when there was work, but there isn’t always work, you understand.” Rev turned back to the stove, shutting off the last dial and draining the potatoes, before mashing them vigorously. Dylan, being helpful, grabbed the peas and carrots and poured them into the pot so that Rev could combine them. “Beka fell behind in her payments and we had a most unfortunate run-in with a debt collector on Tezler Drift,” Rev continue his story. “The Maru was repossessed. I was able to pull some strings and get us accommodation in a nearby monastery, but Bobby… well, Bobby had always had his own agenda. Living on charity for an extended period of time while trying to figure out how to regain our ship was not a part of it. He left after one night, and he told Beka that she was driving her life – all of our lives – straight into the gutter.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“Bobby had a way of knowing what would hurt Beka the most,” Rev replied sadly. “Harper felt so bad for her, he went out and worked sixteen hour days for a month straight to help her earn the money she needed. Vax Peg too, took a short haul trip. Nobody needed a pilot, unfortunately – or a Magog Wayist.” Rev snuffled and Dylan laughed along with him. 

 “Would you like to join me?” Rev asked, “I thought I would bring a dish to Beka and Harper. They went straight to work this morning.”

“Of course.” Dylan helped Rev dish out the food and set the plates on a tray. They left the mess hall, heading toward Command Deck since it was closer and, well, Dylan realized he didn’t actually know where Harper was now, since the last time he’d seen him he’d been in between floors.   

“So, obviously Beka got the Maru back,” Dylan prompted as they walked.

“Indeed. Harper was able to make a lot of money on Tezler Drift. He got a lot of offers – engineers are in short supply, and no one could tell that Harper wasn’t formally trained. He was quite the commodity. I believe seven different ships offered to get him off the drift. But Beka – Beka has become Harper’s family. When Vax Pag returned from his short haul trip, between what he had earned, what Harper had earned, and what I was able to convince the monks at the monastery to donate to us, we were able to get the Maru out of dry dock.”

“Well, I guess I better be grateful,” Dylan replied. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t gotten the Maru back up and running.”

“The universe often works like that, don’t you agree?” They arrived on Command Deck. The doors swished open just in time for Dylan to hear the whine of a gun loading, followed quickly by the charge of another.

“What’s going on here?” he shouted, rushing into the room. Beka and Tyr ignored him, their guns pointed at each other’s throats. Neither of them moved, hands steady. Beka was red in the face; Tyr appeared significantly less ruffled. 

“You’re not going anywhere near my ship,”Beka warned through tight lips.

Tyr sneered and did not reply. Dylan sighed, handing his tray to Rev, and stepped quite purposefully between the two. “I said,” he repeated, “What’s going on here?”

“Your Nietzschean friend threatened to steal the Maru,” Beka replied. She was livid.

“I did not threaten to steal it,” Tyr replied. “I merely stated that I could, if I so chose.”

“Try it.”  Beka’s voice was a dangerous hiss. Tyr raised an eyebrow. Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. So much for the possibility that the two of them could get along.  He raised his hands, trying to get their attention. Then Rev’s voice from the sidelines interrupted his thoughts.

“Beka?  Dylan? I think we have bigger problems,” Rev said. “Three Nietzschean fighters have just exited slip stream, heading straight for us.”

“Confirmed,” Andromeda’s voice piped up. “They are heavily armed and on an intercept course.  According to the upgrades that Beka installed, they appear to be White Shark Pride.”

“Pirates,” two voices sneered. Dylan had glanced over at the vid screen when Rev pointed out the fighters; now his head snapped back to his two warring crew mates. Both had put their guns away and were busy at the controls. 

“Slip stream in two minutes,” Beka informed them, settling into the pilot’s chair.

“Arming defensive missiles,” Tyr replied, his hands dancing over the controls. 

“The fighters are closing; they will be in firing range in less than forty seconds,” Rev announced. 

Dylan looked from crew member to crew member. He asked Andromeda what the status of her offensive missiles was, but Tyr answered for her. “We don’t have offensive capability at this time,” he said. “Ship, how long can you hold off an attack using defensive missiles only?”

“At current capacity, approximately two minutes, thirty five seconds.”

“Thirty seconds,” Rev counted down.

“That’s plenty of time.” Beka’s hands tightened on the control.  

“Agreed,” Tyr replied. 

“Twenty seconds.”

“Andromeda? What information do we have on these fighters?” Dylan’s mind slipped into control mode, methodically moving to the first logical course of action – gather information on the enemy so that a weak spot can be identified. 

“I have very little information on White Shark Pride. I do not recall them from… before.” 

“They are cowards,” Tyr snarled.

“Ten seconds.”

“Yeah, but they’re sneaky cowards, and we’re not in good shape right now,” Beka replied. “They’re pirates, Dylan. They’ll see the Andromeda as ripe for the picking.”

“Firing defensive missiles.” Tyr’s voice cut in, as the shots began to land. Dylan ran to the long range sensor controls. 

“Andromeda, how many drones have we got?” he barked.

“Twenty seven are currently operational.”

“Slipstream in one minute.” There was a loud noise; the ship shook and sparks flew as a missile hit home. 

“Reloading!” Tyr shouted, as if the landed missile was a personal affront.

“Shall I launch drones?” Andromeda asked. Dylan bit his lip. There wasn’t much time – if they launched now they’d either lose the drones or have to wait until they could pick them up again. 

“The ships are closing in,” Rev informed them.

“Harper!” Beka yelled.

“Got it, boss!” A voice came from nowhere. Dylan glanced around, but he couldn’t tell where Harper was. Suddenly, though, the ship lurched under his feet as a massive boost in power flowed through it.

“Engines are at 115%; we’ve reached the slip point,” Andromeda informed them, sounding a little surprised herself.

“I hear that,” Beka replied, jamming them forward. The portal reached out to grab them, and Dylan’s stomach lurched the way it always did as they entered the stream. Beka whipped along the stream, making split-second decisions on instinct. A few minutes of hurling through space, and she suddenly eased up. They vaulted out of slip stream into another star system – a quiet, empty system.  He heard Beka let out a sigh of relief as she released the controls. 

“Good work,” Dylan told them all, stepping down to the vid screen so that he could face them. Out of the corner of his eye, he finally found Harper, squatting in a nearby access conduit. “Now, would someone mind very much telling me what just happened?”

“Boy,” Tyr called, ignoring Dylan’s question. “We need weapons. Make that your first priority.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Harper sneered back, jumping out of the corridor, one hand on his gun. Dylan glanced around and noticed that Beka’s hand was on her weapon as well. The two of them were coming together, tightening up, protecting each other’s back. Even Rev was moving, perhaps unconsciously. He carried no gun, but his own natural defenses were probably fierce enough that he didn’t need one. He came to a stop directly behind his Captain and Engineer, looking menacing.

Dylan deliberately stepped in front of them, putting his body between their weapons and Tyr. Harper’s eyes narrowed, and Dylan knew he’d have to tread very lightly, or the crew of the Maru would decide he was on Tyr’s side. He raised his hands placatingly.

“Oh, you’re just being silly!” A new voice exclaimed. Five heads turned to take in Trance, who had just stepped onto the bridge. She was smiling. “You don’t really mean it.”

“He doesn’t get to order my crew around,” Beka muttered. “And he stays the hell away from my ship.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Dylan agreed.  “Tyr?”

“I’m sure Tyr agrees,” Trance answered cheerfully, “Especially now that Andromeda’s internal defenses are back online and she would probably hurt him if he attempted to harm one of her new crew.” 

“Ship,” Tyr’s voice drawled, “Is this true?”

Harper smirked as Andromeda responded in the affirmative.

“Very well.”  Dylan kept his eyes focused on Beka and Harper, but he could sense that Tyr was standing down. Beka relaxed a bit. Harper didn’t. “Nice work, Mr. Harper,” Dylan said, hoping to distract him.  It worked, although Dylan got the distinct impression that it worked because Harper allowed it to work.

“Just Harper.” He let go of his weapon and turned away from the Nietzschean, nodding to Dylan. Rev caught the man’s attention and directed him to the meal they’d prepared, and slowly the tension lessened.

“Tyr, get down to the missile launch bay and inventory what our offensive capacity is.” Dylan looked at him expectantly, ready for a fight, but Tyr seemed to have decided to retreat for now. He nodded and stalked out of the Bridge. Dylan watched him go, waiting until the doors closed behind him to turn to Beka. “Beka – walk with me.”

**

Out in the hall, Beka paced around him like a caged tiger. He let her, but when he spoke, Dylan’s voice was firm. “That cannot happen again.  You and Tyr are going to have to find a way to work together.”

“Tell him that,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Tell him to stay the hell away from my ship and my people while you’re at it.”

“He’s baiting you, Beka. You can’t let him get a reaction. He’s looking for a weakness.”

“He’s a Nietzschean. He’s only interested in being here insofar as he can gain from it.” Beka swung around and looked Dylan in the face, her expression fiery. “And if he decides that he can’t gain from it, he’s going to leave. And how will he do that? There’s only one other ship around. If he comes near the Maru, I’ll kill him.”

“Agreed,” Dylan replied. That brought Beka up short. The anger in her expression melted into cautious confusion. “I don’t trust him any more than you do, Beka. But this is a big ship and I think we need all the hands we can get. So for now, I need you to try and play nice. You set the tone, Beka. How you react is how the rest of your crew will react. “

Beka laughed. “You don’t know my crew,” she said, but the tension was gone. They were back to joking.

“Fine,” Dylan admitted. “How about – how you react will determine whether or not Mr. Harper attempts to murder our new Nietzschean friend in his sleep or not?”

Beka laughed even harder. “Okay, maybe you do know my crew.”


	4. Schemes and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew come up with a plan... and Dylan gets an idea of his own.

Tyr made himself scarce for the afternoon, skulking through Andromeda’s empty halls and testing doors and cabinets, looking for weaknesses. Andromeda reported in every once in a while, but Dylan wasn’t inclined to stop him. He was doing what came naturally, and Dylan needed the space to figure out what to do with him anyway. He was clearly good in a fight, and they’d both be loath to admit it, but Beka and Tyr had worked almost seamlessly by instinct when White Shark Pride had attacked. If he could negotiate a truce when their lives weren’t in danger, he’d actually have a pretty good command crew. And a damn good engineer, he acknowledged as he also wandered the halls, realizing how much power had been restored to his ship in less than a day. 

Unlike Tyr, who was systematically working his way through Andromeda’s Ops levels, Dylan had been wandering through the crew levels. All these empty rooms… his mind was torn between rifling through memories, trying to understand his new crew, and despairing at the future. How could there be a world without a Commonwealth? How could there be a world where people from Earth couldn’t read, where when you snuck up behind someone, they could turn on you with that animalistic desperation he’d glimpsed on Harper’s face? 

On the other hand – a world where a Magog could find religion. A world where after centuries of betrayal a Nietzschean could once again serve alongside other species. A world where one Captain could offer another Captain trust. 

“You’ll go crazy if you think about it too much,” a voice behind him said. Dylan turned around, startled, to find Trance standing innocently behind him. Speaking of whole new worlds… 

“Think about what?” he asked, wondering whether her species was telepathic. 

“The future,” she replied, “Or the past.” Definitely telepathic, he decided. 

“What would you suggest?” he responded. 

She smiled. “Staying in the now.” She touched his arm and Dylan was surprised at how moved he was by the gesture. “You have friends now, Dylan,” she continued. “You just haven’t gotten to know them yet.”

“Thank you, Trance,” he answered sincerely. He looked around. “I know for the rest of the world, it’s been a long time since I had anyone. But for me, they were just here, just a few days ago. It’s so… sudden.”

“I know,” she replied. Then she smiled. “Rev is cooking supper. On the Maru we try to eat our meals together. You should join us.”

Stay in the now, he thought. “Alright,” he said aloud. “Lead on.”

They started walking down the hall together. 

“D’you think Tyr would like to eat?” She asked. 

Dylan smiled, taking her arm. “I think we should at least ask him,” he replied, and they set off together. 

**

Surprisingly, Tyr came to supper. He sat by himself and ate quickly, but after the meal he rose and cleaned up after himself just like everyone else. He said nothing and no one spoke to him, so Dylan made a point of saying good night as he headed for the door. 

He paused, and then replied, “Sleep well, Captain,” as if he meant it. 

“Do we seriously have to share a ship with him?” Harper moaned the moment he was gone. 

“Harper,” Rev scolded. 

“C’mon, Rev – he’s a Nietzschean!”

“I’m a Magog, and you have accepted me,” Rev replied. 

“That’s different,” Harper said. 

“He’s good with guns,” Beka piped up, and Dylan repressed a smile. 

“Of course he is; he’s a Nietzschean!”

“Mr. Harper,” Dylan interjected, “I’m curious to know how you managed to get Andromeda’s engines working at beyond capacity. What did you do?”

“Harper,” Harper replied. “No Mister. Just Harper. And what I did is what I do – perform miraculous feats of engineering genius at the moment they are needed most.”

“He could power a whole fleet off the mass effect of his ego,” Beka teased. Trance giggled. Harper pretended to look annoyed, but Dylan could tell this was the usual dynamic. 

“You’re just jealous because you can’t do it,” Harper shot back. “At least Dylan appreciates me.”

“Indeed I do!” Dylan replied, winking at Beka. She winked back. Harper threw a carrot in her general direction and she laughed.

Dylan’s heart ached a little. They were a family. Not a crew – he was joining a family. 

**

After dinner he wandered back to the bridge, not surprised to discover that Tyr had taken up post here. “Someone has to pay attention while the rest of you linger over dessert,” he sneered when Dylan commented on it. 

Dylan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Indeed,” he replied with as much conviviality as he could muster. “Good thinking, Tyr.” 

Tyr did not resist the urge to roll his eyes. 

“This ship is in need of repair,” he said as Dylan came to stand beside him. 

“Harper’s on it,” Dylan replied. “Whatever else you might think of him, you’ve got to give him credit for his ability to get things done.”

“Your ship is 300 years old,” Tyr cut in. “Even Harper’s resourcefulness won’t be able to keep it going forever. We need parts.”

Dylan acknowledged the point silently, resisting the urge to sigh. “Well,” he said aloud, working hard to maintain his neutral tone. “You know the system better than I do – where would you recommend?”

“To repair this antique?” Tyr sneered. “A scrap yard.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” said a new voice, and both men turned to see Beka striding onto the bridge, Harper at her heels. “There’s a junkyard just outside of Winnipeg Drift that has free salvage.”

“Free salvage?” Dylan repeated. 

“The right to scavenge,” Tyr explained disdainfully. 

“Yeah, well, since your boss screwed us all, we’re not exactly rolling in money here, and I’m willing to bet they don’t take High Guard cash anymore,” Beka shot back. 

“Free salvage sounds good,” Dylan broke in, anxious to avoid another fight. “If you think we can get what we need.”

“I can make it work,” Harper assured. “I can make anything work.”

“I wish I could say the little brat was exaggerating, but he’s not,” Beka added with mock ruefulness. 

Dylan glanced at Tyr, who merely raised an eyebrow, and Dylan cursed himself for forgetting yet again that he was dealing with a Nietzschean. Trying to run things democratically was going to cost him points with Tyr. Fine, then. He’d be the boss. “Winnipeg Drift it is,” he decided. “Andromeda, plot a course.

“Course plotted.”

“Tyr, perhaps you’d allow me to pilot my ship?” 

“It’s all yours,” Tyr answered, stepping down from the pilot’s seat and stalking off the bridge. 

“Very well, then – let’s go.”

+++

They spent a good portion of their travel in sub-light, at Harper’s suggestion. He didn’t like the alignment of the slipstream runners and wasn’t sure how Andromeda would fair if they disengaged them, so it took the better part of two days to reach Winnipeg. They arrived at 20:00 local time, so they stayed on the edge of the system overnight rather than paying the extra night’s berthing fees. 

Early the next morning, Dylan shook himself awake. Just as with the nights before, he woke disoriented and confused, and his heart rate sped up suddenly as the memories crashed into him. It wasn’t getting any easier, really. He breathed deeply, willing calm to return, and then sat up in bed. 

“Good morning, Dylan,” Andromeda said, projecting her image on the holo-screen nearby. 

“Good morning, Andromeda,” he replied. “Report.”

“Harper and Trance have been breaking into crew quarters for the last hour, stealing our crew’s personal possessions.” She sounded angry. 

Dylan sighed. He supposed it was too much to expect them not to, in hindsight. “Where are they now?”

“Cargo Bay Two.”

“I’m on my way.”

He dressed quickly and jogged down the hallway, slowing to a purposeful stride as he approached the door. He stepped in, expecting them both to jump in surprise at being caught. 

Harper just glanced up. “Morning, Dylan,” he said. “Can you hand me that sealer?” He gestured with his chin toward a tool that lay nearby without taking his hands off the shipping container he and Trance were currently struggling to close. 

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dylan replied, not moving. 

Harper looked up at him, his face the picture of confusion, and his eyes widened as he took in Dylan’s angry stance. 

“Uh… sorry?” He said, in a voice that clearly indicated he had no idea what he was apologizing for. 

“You’ve been here four days, and already you’re stealing from my crew.” Dylan responded. 

Harper’s brow furrowed. He exchanged a worried look with Trance. “Uh, boss?” he ventured. “Your crew… you know they’re gone, right?”

“Of course I do,” Dylan snapped back. “That’s not the point.”

Harper looked at Trance again, who just shrugged. “Okay, so well… you can’t steal from people who don’t exist anymore.”

“Those are personal possessions,” Dylan argued. “You had no right.”

“Oh,” Trance said. “He’s mad because he thinks we’re being disrespectful.”

Finally, understanding showed on Harper’s face. He stood, stepping away from the container, and turned to face Dylan completely. “Hey,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “We meant no disrespect, honest. We’ve got to come up with 1,500 thrones for the docking fees and the salvage license, and we need some food and other supplies… honestly we’re a little short on cash. We never got paid for our last job, you see.” He punctuated that with a meaningful look to emphasize that Dylan had, of course, been their last job. “It was either this or machinery, and quite frankly, Andromeda doesn’t have any machinery to spare.”

Dylan’s anger drained out of him in a sudden rush, looking at the two earnest faces staring back at him. “Oh,” he mumbled. “Well, you should have consulted with me.”

“We didn’t want to wake you,” Trance replied. “You seem so tired.”

“I’m fine,” he replied automatically, and saw in both young faces an utter lack of belief in his response. “I’m… catching up,” he amended. They seemed more satisfied with that answer. Harper turned away and got back to work, Trance joining after sharing a sympathetic smile. Dylan realized with a jolt that trauma and its after-effects were probably common place in this new world. He made a mental note to try to be more honest with his crew about his own mental well-being. Families share the burden of their pain, he thought, and suddenly the loss of Sara was so sharp and real that he felt tears in his eyes. 

“You sure you’re okay, boss?” Harper asked, breaking him from his reverie. 

“I am,” he replied. “Just… remembering.”

“Maybe… maybe you don’t want to help with this part,” Harper suggested awkwardly. “I promise, we’ll write down everything that we took, okay?”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Harper,” Dylan nodded and turned away, barely hearing Harper’s admonishment that it was ‘not Mister’ as he walked out of the room. “Andromeda,” he said when the doors had closed, “Where’s Beka?”

“Captain Valentine is in the Eureka Maru,” she replied, and Dylan could have sworn there was a sympathetic note to her tone. He ignored it, reminding himself of Trance’s advice to stay in the now. Turning his back on the bits of his past that were being boxed up by his new crew members, he strode toward the Launch Bay. 

The Maru allowed him on without question and Dylan wound his way through its catwalks until he reached the bridge, where Beka was currently engrossed in an argument with a snobbish-looking Chichin official. 

“I don’t care what extenuating circumstances you’ve encountered, Captain,” she was saying to an angry-looking Beka. “We have no record of an ‘Andromeda Ascendent’ as a registered starship, and if you want to berth at Winnipeg Drift or traverse our sector, you’ll have to buy a bloody license – and pay the fine for entering the sector in an unregistered vessel.”

“But we literally dragged the ship out of a black hole four days ago,” Beka protested. 

The Chichin shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds like you had plenty of time to file the paperwork,” she replied. “So, that’s 1,000 thrones for a five-year license and 250 for the fine. What sector did you say you came from? Perhaps we should inform them as well.”

“Never mind!” Beka replied hastily. “You’ll get your damn money.” She slammed her hand down on the console to sever the communication link and then activated person-to-person. “Harper, you there?”

“Yeah boss?” Harper’s voice came back. 

“There’s no way we’re getting out of registering the Andromeda – and that nose-less bitch is fining us for entering the system without a license. I’m going to need another 1,250 on top of the docking and salvage. See what else you can tear out of the crew quarters. I really don’t want to have to sell any parts.”

“Uh – yeah, okay, Boss, but listen, Dylan was down here not that long ago and he wasn’t too happy with us going through his crew’s stuff.”

“Dylan’ll just have to get over himself,” Beka replied. 

It seemed like the right time to announce his presence, so Dylan politely cleared his throat. 

Beka whipped around, her gun out of the holster and her hand steadied to aim before she’d even fully turned. 

“Whoa!” he said, holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just – ”

“Eavesdropping?” Beka replied, clearly annoyed, as she put her gun away. 

“Coming to see you,” Dylan finished, giving her a pointed look. She had the good graces to blush just a little. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Next time, knock.” She fiddled with the console in front of her for a moment and then turned back to him with a sigh. “I guess you’re pissed about us repurposing your stuff,” she said, a bit sullenly. 

“I would have appreciated being consulted.” Beka acknowledged the point silently. Now it was Dylan’s turn to sigh. “Beka, if we’re going to make this work, we’re going to have to work together. You need to include me.”

“Would you have said yes?” 

“Probably not at first,” he admitted. “But as you get to know me, I think you’ll find I appreciate practicalities.”

“Okay. Next time, we’ll ask.”

“Next time?” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even thought of them. He hadn’t even considered that there might be a ‘next time’. 

Beka scowled. “I don’t know what you think we’re going to find in this scrap yard,” she said, “But we’ll be lucky if we find anything older than 50 years out there, never mind 300. Harper’s good, but there’s only so much retrofitting you can do to jury-rig an older ship. Trust me, I know. The Maru’s 35 years old and for the last 10 it’s been a real bitch finding parts. Harper’s had to replace just about every system we have to keep up. Look, we can keep Andromeda running for a while, but eventually we’re going to have to go antique-shopping somewhere, and that costs money.”

“Antique shopping,” Dylan repeated thoughtfully. 

Beka grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant –”

Dylan waved off her apology. “If we’re going to replace High Guard technology, we need to find High Guard-era relics,” he summarized. “That’s good thinking, Beka.”

She was looking at him like he had three heads, and he knew he should do a better job of explaining the leap of logic that was going on in his head, but he was too excited. Finally, something he could do to improve their situation. “I’ll be in cartography,” he told her, turning on his heel.

“Uh… okay?” Beka replied, but she was talking to his back.


	5. Working for a Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An honest day's work for the crew of the Andromeda.

“Andromeda,” he said as he strolled into the map room. “Pull up all the star charts for this sector – our original star charts, not the Maru’s updated ones.”

Andromeda complied, and soon he was surrounded by the old familiar images of his time – High Guard stations and outposts glowing as little green dots scattered across the known universe. 

“And where are we?” he asked. 

“Approximately, here,” Andromeda replied, placing a red dot on the map and surrounding it by a larger circle. 

“That’s a pretty big range,” he commented. 

“I am currently unable to account for spatial drift due to ongoing expansion of the universe,” Andromeda replied. 

“300 years isn’t that long,” Dylan countered. “Things shouldn’t have moved that much.”

“They haven’t,” Andromeda agreed. “However, there was at least one cataclysmic event that has distorted the gravitational pull of some systems and with some slipstream routes effectively cut off, it is difficult to determine the relative positions of some areas of known space compared to three centuries ago. I could compensate if the interface between long-range sensors and my geographic information system was functional, but it is not.”

“Run a system diagnostic; maybe Harper can fix it.”

“I already have,” the ship answered. “It’s the same underlying problem that prevented me from syncing sensors when Captain Valentine wanted to update my star charts. Harper’s work list indicates that the long range reflector array is damaged beyond repair. His plan is to locate a replacement array from the salvage yard and then modify it to be compatible with both sensors and mapping.”

Dylan sighed. So close, he thought, looking around him. 300 years ago, there were High Guard stations and ships everywhere in this sector. He just needed to get the scanners working correctly so he could figure out where they would have been. There had to be something left!

“Alright, Andromeda,” he said aloud. “Thank you. I guess I’ll go help Mr. Harper.” He cast a wistful glance up at the star charts, where everything looked right and things were where they belonged, before squaring his shoulders and charging through the door. Trance had told him that he’d go crazy if he thought too hard about the past – but he just couldn’t believe that everything was gone. Somewhere, the High Guard, the Commonwealth – somewhere it was still the present. And he was going to find it. 

+++

Beka was on the bridge when he strode on. “She’s registered,” she announced when she saw him. “You have a five-year license good for three sectors. I put her in Trance’s name.”

“Trance’s name?” Dylan replied. 

“Well – Harper has debts; Magog can’t own property in this sector; and I figured if I put it in my name Tyr might consider it an act of war.” She laughed. “And of course I wasn’t going to put it in his!”

“Why wouldn’t you put it in my name?” he replied, astounded that she would ignore the obvious choice. 

Beka rolled her eyes, staring at him like he was the dumbest thing alive. “You don’t exist, Dylan,” she explained. “Dylan Hunt the High Guard Captain is officially dead. Before I can put your ship in your name, we need to register you.”

“Well, then, let’s do that,” he answered. 

Beka shook her head. “Too complicated for Winnipeg Drift, believe me,” she answered. “They’re not very imaginative here. I mean you saw how that woman reacted when I told her we’d pulled Andromeda out of a black hole – ‘plenty of time to do the paperwork’.” She pitched her voice in a mimic of the Chichin official, pulling a face. “When we’re done here we’ll hit up Halcyon. It’s close and they are way better with ‘extenuating circumstances.” Dylan nodded, but his displeasure surely showed on his face, because Beka hurried on. “Trance is trustworthy,” she assured. “I mean, I know she’s strange and nothing she says makes sense – but she’s not going to steal your ship. She doesn’t even know how to drive.”

“That… actually make me feel better,” Dylan acknowledged. At least now he knew that Trance couldn’t steal his ship from under him on her own – and they had a better chance of picking up a conspiracy to commit mutiny than if a single individual was plotting against him. Except it wouldn’t really be mutiny, would it? Could he even consider these people his crew? 

“Dylan? You okay? ” Beka said, and he realized it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. 

“Hmm?” he replied, shaking himself out of his reverie. “Sorry – just… lost in thought.”

“Uh huh,” she said, giving him that same disbelieving look that Trance and Harper had given him earlier. 

“I used to have a crew,” he added, remembering that he needed to explain more to these people. “Now I don’t even have my own ship.”

“It’s a name thing only, I swear,” Beka replied. “And you have a crew – we work for room and board. And fuel for the Maru, just in case you really piss us off.” She winked, and he laughed despite himself. 

“Thank you, Beka,” he said genuinely. “I… the details are overwhelming. I appreciate you dealing with all the licenses and everything.”

“No problem,” she answered, and he could tell she meant it. They stood in awkward silence for a moment and then she looked away, shuffling. “I was saying that Harper’s got our permits in order – we’re cleared to dock on the drift, and we can get going with the salvage first thing in the morning.”

“That’s good,” he replied, trying not to think about where the money came from. Stay in the now, he repeated like a mantra. Stay in the now. 

+++

They started the salvage run the next day, and there wasn’t time for Dylan to do anything but stay in the now, because Harper’s manic demands kept him running from the moment they sent out the drones to scout around what was available to the minute Harper hauled the last piece of space junk into Andromeda’s cargo hold. It was all hands on deck, and Dylan was surprised to see even Tyr willing to take direction from the engineer as Harper made short work of the sensor scans and divided up the labour among them. 

Rev Bem and Trance monitored the sensors on Andromeda – and responded to regular interruptions from Winnipeg Drift’s bureaucrats, which Dylan found insulting and frustrating but everyone else seemed to take in stride. Beka took the Maru out and hauled the larger items, driving back and forth between the dead ships in the yard and Andromeda with engines and drones hanging off her bucking cables. 

Dylan and Tyr had been relegated to heavy lifting – operating Andromeda’s droids to move things to the appropriate system and, sometimes, hauling stuff around the old fashioned way. Dylan had to admit, although it was hard work, it was cleansing in some way. He felt younger, doing manual labour – like a man of 41 instead of three hundred and 41. He felt useful, and he felt strong. 

It was only in the moments when he found himself drawing breath to make some off-hand comment to Tyr that a split second later he remembered would not be welcome that the feelings of dread and loss and futility that had been plaguing him ever since his rescue would knock at the edge of his consciousness. Sometimes, Tyr would catch him at it and raise an eyebrow, but Dylan refused to take the bait, just looking away and putting his back into his work again. 

At some point Rev came around with food, and then again, and Dylan realized that they’d been at it for more than ten hours. He stopped, taking the meal from Rev, and wiped his brow. “How are we doing?” he asked, grateful for Rev’s presence, which he felt he could trust to give him the companionship he wanted. 

“Very well,” Rev replied. “Beka is bringing the last of the large items in now; she should be back within the hour. I think even Trance has run out of hidden gems to pull out of the scrap yard. Harper seemed very pleased with what she was able to locate.”

Dylan nodded, taking a long swig of the drink Rev had brought him. “Speaking of Harper,” he said, to keep the conversation going, “Where did he go?” The young man had been there in the morning to tell them all what to do, and then he’d disappeared. 

“I’m here,” Harper replied, and Dylan jumped a little. It took him a moment to realize that Harper’s voice was coming from the computer, not the comm system. He was jacked in somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tyr’s look of amusement and realized that the Nietzschean had known that all along. 

“Mister Harper!” Dylan exclaimed, remembering just too late that it was ‘just Harper, not mister’. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve been building,” Harper replied. “We’ve got full sensor capability; the array is back online; the slipstream runners are aligned perfectly; and I’ve been able to modify the drones we found to be compatible with Andromeda’s command protocols.”

“Weapons?” Tyr asked. 

“There’s nothing here we can use,” Harper answered. 

“We need weapons,” Tyr said. 

“I know, okay?” Harper sounded frustrated. “It’s a junk yard. You think they’re going to haul a ship out here that’s still armed? I can repair the targeting systems but I can’t make missiles appear out of thin air.”

“That’s fine, Mis- Harper,” Dylan cut in, shooting Tyr a look. “I’d say this mission has been more than successful.”

“If we can’t scrounge weapons, we will have to buy them,” Tyr said, ignoring Dylan completely. 

“No shit,” Harper answered. “Lucky for you, the Harper thinks of everything. I had Trance locate communications equipment and as many scrubbers as she could find. I can clean ‘em up tonight and we can sell ‘em on Winnie Drift tomorrow. Should get a decent amount for them. People always need that stuff.”

Dylan gave Tyr a pointed look. The other man nodded. Dylan raised an eyebrow, waiting, and Tyr relented. “That’s… a good plan,” he acknowledged. Dylan smiled his approval at Tyr’s attempt to be conciliatory. 

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Harper sniped back, rendering the effort completely meaningless. “Harper out.” Now Tyr was giving Dylan a raised eyebrow. He shrugged and turned away. 

“He’ll come around,” Rev said at his side. “It took him a long time to get comfortable with me. Don’t worry, Dylan.” The Magog picked up the food dishes and wandered out of the cargo bay. As the door opened, Dylan could hear the soft sounding of the alerts that indicated the launch bay doors were opening – Beka was back. 

“I’ll see to what needs to be stored,” Tyr said, walking away with a disdainful look. 

Dylan was alone again.


	6. Fights and Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan's first real exposure to the world after the Long Night solidifies his intentions.

“I’ll stay with the ship,” Tyr informed him when they berthed back at Winnipeg Drift. He touched Dylan’s arm and pulled him aside for a quiet conversation. “The Magog should stay too,” he continued. “People in our time are even less understanding of his species than they were 300 years ago.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Dylan dismissed. “They’ve done this hundreds of times.” He glanced over at the Maru’s crew. Harper and Trance were chattering excitedly about something that made Beka roll her eyes. Rev was smiling as he pulled on a heavy cloak that fell down over his hands. It had a large hood as well, and distinctive markings that he’d explained where Wayist symbols. “He’s a man of the cloth,” Dylan continued. 

“You say that as though it means something,” Tyr murmured, but subsided. 

Just then, Beka looked up. “Ready to go, Dylan?” she asked, smiling, inviting. 

“Yes I am,” he replied, smiling back. “Let’s do this.”

He picked up his share of the goods for sale – relegated to manual labour again – and followed Beka out the air lock, Rev, Trance, and Harper falling into place behind him. 

“Now remember,” she lectured as they walked across the docks. “No street deals. We want a paper trail on all of this stuff, to start establishing Andromeda’s name. Authorized dealerships only.”

“Yeah, Beka, we know,” Harper said, sounding disappointed. 

“And no stealing,” she added. Dylan glanced back and was surprised to Trance pouting at that one. He’d expected Harper. “I mean it,” Beka emphasized, “no matter how shiny.”

“Yes, Beka,” Trance replied meekly. “No stealing.”

“Good. Okay, Dylan and Trance, you’re with me. Rev, stick with Harper. And keep your head down!” she called as Harper and Rev moved away. 

“Geez, Beka, relax,” Harper called back. “He was alive for 37 years before he even met you, you know.”

“Try to keep your clothes on this time?” she shot back, and Harper grinned, waving goodbye. 

“That sounds like a story worth telling,” Dylan murmured as Beka drew her attention back to the remaining crew. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Beka laughed. “Let’s go.”

+++

Beka was nothing if not efficient – and she drove a hard bargain. Within the hour, they’d sold their share of the equipment and the money had been transferred to Andromeda’s new currency account, minus a little cash that Beka kept back for a well-earned meal after a hard day’s work. They wound their way through the crowd toward the pub that they’d agreed upon as a meet-up spot. 

As they walked, Dylan couldn’t help but notice the murmurs that arose around them and the looks that were slanted their way. “Trance certainly attracts attention,” he commented. 

“They’re not just looking at Trance,” Beka replied. 

Dylan flushed. “Of course not, Beka. I’m sorry. You’re a very attractive woman.”

Beka laughed, punching him in the arm. “They’re looking at you, you doof,” she said. 

“What? Me – no, Beka, I doubt that,” he replied, blushing more. 

“You’ll see,” Beka grinned at him as she held the door to the pub open. Pounding music poured out of the dark, crowded room. Dylan looked at her, confused, and it just made her grin wider. “Remember, no means no,” she whispered in his ear, leaning close, and then she was gone, Trance slipping by him to follow like a shadow, and he was alone. 

“Hi, beautiful,” said a voice to his right. He glanced over at a tall, well-built woman with bright red hair. “Looking for a good time?” She looked him up and down, lingering at his crotch, and whistled. 

He thought he might die of blushing. “No, uh, no – no thank you,” he stammered, pushing away from her through the crowd. 

He bumped into someone’s back in his hurry to get away. “Hey!” a man’s voice cried, and the person whirled around to face him. “Hey…” he said again, in a much less protesting manner. His arm snaked around Dylan’s waist. “We can dance if you want to,” he purred. 

“No, no,” Dylan replied, pulling away. “I’m just, no thank you.”

He hurried away again, his face crimson, as the man called, “I’ll be here when you’re ready, baby!” to his back. 

Finally, he made it to the bar and signaled for a drink. The bartender, a Nightsider, hurried over. “Rough night, sweetheart?” It said, nose twitching. It laid its hand on Dylan’s, leaning close. “Need a little company? Shoulder to cry on, maybe?”

Dylan snatched his hand away. “how about just a drink?” He said, trying for angry. It came out more like a plea. 

“Come on, sugar, we can do more than drink.” The Nightsider winked, even as it was reaching down for a glass. 

“Just a drink,” Dylan replied, managing a bit more firmness. 

“You heard the man, just a drink,” a new voice said, and Dylan looked over to see a petite blonde woman staring at him with undisguised lust. 

“Alone,” he emphasized, and she pouted. 

“Hey! Put me down!” Trance’s voice, high and desperate, broke over the crowd. Dylan turned away from his would-be suitor in time to see a very large man hike Trance up over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Let her go!” he shouted, and another voice said the same at the same time. He turned slightly to see Harper charging through the bar, wrench in hand. The engineer didn’t even hesitate as he approached his much larger opponent. He leapt toward him and swung the wrench straight into the other man’s nose. 

The man howled and dropped Trance, who scrambled away. Harper’s momentum carried him too far and he hit the man’s chest, scurrying back too slowly; the brute had recovered and swung his fist into Harper’s face. The young man’s head snapped back with an audible crack and his knees buckled as blood came pouring out of his nose. Harper limp in his grasp, his attacker turned back toward Trance, whose escape had been blocked by onlookers. 

“My Captain’s going to kill you,” she warned as he drew near. 

“Oh yeah?” the man sneered. 

“Yeah,” said Dylan, finally making it up to the fight. He pulled out his force lance and activated it. A murmur rose in the crowd. 

The large man turned around, his eyes widening, but he didn’t back down. “I want that,” he said. 

Dylan stopped short for a moment before recovering – he hadn’t expected that. “Come and get it,” he replied, steadying his stance. 

The large man laughed. “Give me the weapon, and when I do your boy I won’t make you watch.” He licked the side of Harper’s face, tasting the younger man’s blood. 

“Put him down,” Dylan warned, his stomach turning. He advanced. 

“Make me,” the man said, shaking Harper in his grip. Dylan took another step forward, looking for an opening. 

Then the larger man’s eyes suddenly widened and his mouth formed an ‘o’ like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out as he tumbled to the ground, pulling Harper with him. The back of his shirt was smoking. Dylan looked up and saw Beka standing there, grim-faced, gauss gun in hand. 

“I told you my Captain would kill you,” Trance said, jerking her arms free of the onlookers that had grabbed her. She rushed to Harper’s side and helped him sit. “Harper? Are you okay?”

“Mm’kay,” he slurred, leaning heavily against her. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Beka said, reaching down to help Harper to his feet. 

“Here, let me.” Dylan shook himself out of his stupor and ran to Harper’s side, taking on most of his weight. Beka turned Trance around, keeping one hand on her shoulder and one hand on her gun, and led them out of the bar. 

“Master Harper!” Rev Bem’s voice cried as they stepped out into the smog of the street. He’d been waiting outside with his hood pulled up, but as he rushed over to help Dylan, it fell down to his shoulders. 

“Magog!” Dylan heard someone gasp, and then street around them exploded into whispers and fearful cries. 

“We need to go now,” Beka stated. She hurried down the street toward the docking berths. Dylan was aware that a crowd had begun to follow them but he refused to look back, matching Beka’s pace until the Andromeda was in sight. 

Tyr was standing at the side of the airlock, looking bored. His eyes widened and he stood up straighter as they approached. “I see you’ve had some trouble of your own,” he murmured, levelling his oversized gun at the crowd as they shuffled past him. 

Dylan left Harper in Rev’s care and came back to stand at Tyr’s side. “You too?” he asked. 

“I caught a thief trying to break into the Andromeda. The ship would not let me kill him, so instead we’ve filed charges like good citizens. For 700 thrones we can have him declared guilty without trial.” They eyed the crowd who, faced with Dylan and Tyr together, seemed less inclined to continue their pursuit. “What’s this about? Why is the boy’s face bloody? ”

“Two completely separate things,” Dylan replied conversationally. “Harper got punched in the face trying to stop someone from… stealing Trance.” Tyr considered this and nodded casually in understanding. “The angry mob is because someone got a look at Rev Bem.”

“I told you it was a mistake to let him off the ship,” Tyr reminded. 

“Yes, you did, Mr. Anazasi, and you were right,” Dylan replied with a sigh. 

“Dylan, we’re ready to launch,” Beka’s voice came over the person-to-person.

“Shall we?” he said to Tyr.

“Oh, after you – I insist,” Tyr replied. 

+++

Tyr headed up to the bridge to monitor their departure from Winnipeg Drift. Dylan headed down to med deck. The door had been left open and his new crew’s voices floated toward him as he rounded the corner, coming off the lift. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Beka was saying. 

“You got there when we needed you,” Trance replied. 

“Yeah.” Beka’s voice was morose. “This time.”

“Beka,” Harper broke in, half whining and half scolding. “Bygones, remember?”

Beka sighed. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. On the scale of bad things that have happened, this hardly even rates.”

“He has a concussion,” Andromeda corrected. “He should be monitored.”

“We will,” Rev assured. “Come on, Master Harper. I’ll take you back to your quarters.”

“No, uh, I’d rather – I’ll rest on the Maru,” Harper replied, sounding a bit embarrassed. “No offense, Rommie – it’s just, the Maru’s home.”

Dylan had just about reached the door when Harper spoke and at those words he pulled back, rushing back around the corner before he could hear Andromeda’s response. He wasn’t even sure why he was hiding, exactly. It just… hurt to realize that Andromeda, his mighty warship, wasn’t anybody’s home anymore – except his. It was a place to sleep, a place to work… but Harper, injured and vulnerable, wanted to retreat to someplace he felt safe. The High Guard ship didn’t make him feel safe. 

The High Guard had been a symbol of peace and order. Andromeda used to inspire confidence everywhere she went. And now she wasn’t good enough to recover from a head injury in. The realization made him feel old and helpless all over again. 

He turned away, jogging back to the lift before the others could get far enough down the hall to realize he was there. He had to bring the Commonwealth back. He had to restore the High Guard as that symbol of hope and well-being. This universe, this time, these people – they needed hope. He directed the lift back to cartography. At the very least, he knew where to begin now: he had to make Andromeda the strongest, safest ship she could possibly be. 

+++

Harper hadn’t lied when he’d said he’d already finished all the necessary repairs. Andromeda had taken the opportunity to follow through on the work Dylan had started, and when he walked into cartography, she quickly displayed a map of the current system overlaid with an adjusted map from the commonwealth days. 

“Andromeda, scan sectors one through six and see if you can find any evidence of High Guard-era technology,” he directed. 

“Scanning. No evidence of High Guard technology in sector one. No evidence of High Guard technology in sector two.” 

Dylan sighed. In his day, there had been a trading post – more of a recreational facility than anything else – in the second sector they were scanning, and he’d held out a faint hope that the facility itself would have survived, since it had no military value as a target for destruction. If he recalled correctly, there had been a number of civilian merchants at the post, and he supposed he’d been hoping that business would have carried on as usual. But of course, the facility would have been evacuated once war broke out… 

“Dylan, I found something,” Andromeda’s voice broke into his reverie. “Evidence of High Guard technology in sector six. It’s quite a ways out, but I believe there’s something there.”

He glanced at the commonwealth map and a grin broke out across his face. “That’s perfect,” he told his ship. “Plot a course. We’ll head out first thing in the morning.” 

He felt lighter than he had since Beka had hauled him out of the black hole. He knew it couldn’t all be gone. He knew there’d be something left. 

Hope. It was a wonderful feeling. And he’d bring it back to the known universe. 

+++

He called Beka and Tyr to the bridge the next morning, eager to get going. Tyr arrived in moments. Beka took longer and when she appeared, Harper was at her heels. 

“What is it that’s more important than coffee?” Beka demanded. 

Dylan punched a button on his console to bring up the map, highlighting their destination. “It's called GS92196,” he explained. “It's a Guard station for starship service and repair. A real jewel in the Commonwealth crown.”

Tyr scoffed. “Perhaps once,” he replied. “But it’s probably long gone by now.”

Beka studied the map, then shook her head. “The station’s in easy striking distance of the Dyhedra system,” she said, her tone clearly indicating the plan should be a no-go. 

Dylan shrugged. “The last time I checked, the scariest thing about Dyhedra was the size of the bills at the resort hotels,” he joked. 

No one laughed. “Yeah, well, those hotels may be serving lunch, but we’d be the main course,” Harper muttered darkly. Dylan looked at him confused. 

Beka looked at him like he was stupid. “The entire system is infested with Magog. Everyone knows that,” she said. Then she realized who she was talking to and added, “Almost everyone.”

Tyr chimed in. “The ship's weaponry is severely depleted. We couldn't return fire on a single Magog probe, much less a full assault horde.”

Dylan deflated. All the work he’d put in… didn’t they understand how valuable this could be? He opened his mouth to speak, but Rommie beat him to the punch. “All the more reason to check out the Guard station,” she reasoned. “If it is still operational, we could stock up on slipfighters, drones, spare parts.”

Tyr cocked his head in thought when she mentioned slipfighters. Harper had an almost comically similar reaction to the idea of spare parts. Beka just looked resigned, like she figured all along that Dylan would get them killed somehow. 

He smiled. “Look,” he said, “I grant you it’s a long shot, but maybe we’ll be lucky.” After all, he thought, looking at his three suspicious crew members, his luck had held so far… and his hope was growing every day.


End file.
